Relentless
by The Purple Meanie
Summary: A few months after returning to his birth state, all Mike Schmidt wanted to do was find out what happened to his friend from high school, Jeremy Fitzgerald. As he starts to dig deeper, Mike begins to realize his home town contains some very dark secrets concerning a certain restaurant. (Takes place between FN@F 2 and 1)
1. Chapter 1

Mike Schmidt passed by the bar in his car, realizing he'd have to park across the street. He parked his car and got out, looking in disbelief at the bar where the 20-year high school reunion of the Class of '83 would be, with it's dirty, stained, white brick walls,

"Really, Sorrel, you couldn't afford a nicer place?" he sighed to himself. A few days earlier, he was emailed a message from Katie Sorrel, a fellow classmate at his school, who practically begged Mike to come to at least _one _reunion. Mike couldn't resist, he still remembered how Sorrel was always one to sway others into agreeing with her so she could get what she wanted. Sorrel was lucky to reach Mike when he had settled into his apartment back in his birth state; if she emailed him two months earlier, Mike would've been living all the way on the west coast.

Besides, he could have the opportunity to speak with an old friend for the first time in years. Mike took his time walking towards the bar, taking in the humid summer night air. He looked around at the streets surrounding him; Mike and his family never went into this side of town much when they lived in this state, he even had to ask for directions since it'd been so long since he last stepped foot on these streets. Still, foggy but good memories were spent here.

As Mike opened the door, the dull droning of his former classmates flooded his ears, _It's just for one night, Mike, get it over with..._ he took a deep breath and stepped inside. As expected, aside from some stares and neutral sounding "hey's," Mike didn't receive any immediate affectionate greetings from his former classmates, per usual Bentley Bulldog courtesy. Mike hesitantly walked further away from the door, eyeing the bar.

A pleasant voice called out his name, and Mike turned to look at the approaching woman who had a wide grin on her face, "Katie?" Mike responded, "You've barely changed." Sorrel laughed, and the two shook hands. Her hair still bright orange and her eyes shining, it was like Sorrel never lost all of that youthful energy she was (in)famous for during their high school years,

"Oh, I wasn't sure you'd come!" she said. Mike chuckled softly,

"Well, I just couldn't resist your charm."

"You look so stiff," Sorrel remarked, her tongue in her cheek, "I mean, you've always been like that. I don't mean to offend you..."

"Um, no, you're right."

"Anyway," Sorrel clasped her hands together, "Relax! We're all here to have a good time!" Mike gave her a small smile. The two briefly chatted about what they each did after high school and briefly touched on their personal lives. They eventually drifted away from each other, and Mike headed towards the bar counter. Mike ordered a beer, and as he sipped on it, he silently began observing the numerous amount of former students around him, their monotonous droning making it almost impossible for Mike to hear his own thoughts.

Listening into their conversations, it was apparent to Mike that a good chunk of the students went into the auto industry after college, including himself for a good many years. Mike stared at the faces of some individual former students he recognized, _Patty McConnor, everyone knows you're a deadbeat! Harold Walsh has been married how many times? Hm, Scott Cawthon seems to be doing well... _It wasn't a large class that graduated in '83, but, Mike was surprised at how many students he still remembered, and never realized were still locked away in his subconscious, just waiting to jump out and remind him of his past.

After a while, Katie Sorrel came over and sat in the empty barstool next to Mike, with her brows furrowed, she looked concerned,

"Mike, haven't you picked up some more social skills over the last twenty years?" she laid a hand on his shoulder, Mike brushed it off,

"I guess you could say I didn't," he admitted through gritted teeth. There was some awkward silence between the two of them, and then, Sorrel inquired,

"Are you looking for someone in particular?" Mike sat up, interested.

"Yes I am," he replied, "I haven't seen him yet, um, did you send an email to Jeremy Fitzgerald?" Sorrel's eyes widened, her jaw dropping. Sorrel leaned back to the point where she accidentally fell off of the stool; she got back up, and after stuttering incoherently for a few seconds, she managed to spit out,

"My _God_, Mike, haven't you heard?" she sighed, "It was all over the news!" Mike almost regretted asking the question; still, he persisted,

"Katie, what happened to Jeremy? I _really_ need to know!" Sorrel shook her head, slapping a hand on her mouth,

"I don't remember all the details, it was so long ago," Sorrel groaned, "He still might be living with his parents, I don't-"

_"What happened to him?!"_

"He was working in some children's restaurant in '87," Sorrel explained, "Uh, there was some kind of accident. Whatever happened, Jeremy ended up losing his frontal lobe..." Mike was beginning to feel sick to his stomach, "I'm so sorry," Sorrel apologized, "I thought you knew, everybody here knows what happened to him..."


	2. Chapter 2

Once he recollected his thoughts, Mike knew he'd had enough of the high school reunion. He gulped down the rest of his beer, Sorrel knew exactly what he was about to do, "Look, it was awful what happened to Jeremy, he never deserved it," she tried to reach him, "But, you _couldn't _have come here just to meet up with him again!" Mike slammed the glass on the counter and glared at her with intense fury,

"I came because of you _and _Jeremy," he told her, "I don't care about the rest of them! Because of them, I was counting the days to graduation, I wanted to get out of this deadbeat town so goddamn bad..." Mike stood up and stormed towards the door, shoving past his former classmates, some of whom were staring at him, and ignored Sorrel calling out his name desperately.

He ran down the street and leaped into his car, and as he drove past the bar he only barely noticed Sorrel standing outside in front of the bar looking on as he drove past her. Mike had never felt more simultaneously confused and seething with rage in his whole life; he was so wrapped up in his own thoughts it was a wonder he didn't get himself into an accident. What Sorrel had told him didn't make sense, _How the hell do you lose a chunk of your brain in a restaurant? _he thought, _Was there a fire? Did a fight break out? Did someone start a shooting massacre in there?_

What Mike did know was he only had one small piece of a larger puzzle. Almost in a dreamlike state, Mike parked his car near his apartment. He went inside and began trudging up the stairs, although he wasn't drunk, Mike felt as if he were going through the hangover. His hands trembling, he unlocked the door to his room and, his feet dragging, stepped inside, _Do I still have it? Last time I checked, I did..._

In Mike's apartment, one could almost literally shut the window and close the door without getting up from the bed, as such, it didn't leave much room for a lot of junk. Still, Mike had several things that he held onto for twenty years. He reached under his bed and pulled out a musty-smelling box. Mike parted the lid and began shifting through the miscellaneous medals and A-B honor roll certificates that he'd earned during his high school years. He soon pulled out a dented yearbook from the bottom of the box that read: Bentley High School 1982-83.

Mike flipped through the pages until he found Jeremy's picture; he stared at Jeremy's tawny hair and thin-as-a-rail frame for what seemed like hours. Mike soon realized tears were flowing down his cheeks, and he allowed himself to pull his legs up from the floor and weep softly, something he never let himself do even if he was completely alone, _"I can't believe it, Jeremy," _he couldn't help saying aloud, his voice chopped up from his sobbing, _"I almost forgot your face, what kind of friend am I? I should've called you back, I'm so sorry..."_

One question, one that he never really thought about, was answered. Sorrel mentioned the accident happening in 1987, while they were in colleges that were in different states, Mike and Jeremy would chat frequently over the phone, usually Jeremy was the one who'd call Mike. The calls from Jeremy suddenly stopped late in '87; however, Mike had just gotten a job, and so he would always forget to call Jeremy. Mike figured his friend had gotten a job that took up a lot of his time as well, and so, he never called Jeremy back, to the point where Mike had almost forgotten his friend until he moved back to his birth state a few months before.

With a massive headache throbbing his in head, Mike crawled into bed without taking off his clothes, still clutching the yearbook tightly. He knew exactly what he would do the next day. It took Mike a long time to drift off to sleep, and when he did, he replayed the memory of his last conversation with Jeremy in person, just days before they had to leave to go to college,

_Mike? Don't lie to me, I know you'll miss home._

_I guess; but, I won't miss much. _

_Yeah, yeah, I've heard you a million times. It's just, I feel like you're a part of me, like you're a..._

_...Brother?_

_Um, maybe something like that. I hardly even have an idea of what I'm gonna do after college!_

_Well, you're more talented than I am, the only thing I could do better than you during high school was Shop._

_Don't remind me. I think I'll definitely sell my drawings on the side to help pay my college loans._

_You should focus on your art, you're really good at it._

_I'd love to, but, I don't think I'll actually make a career out of drawing. I'd have to be really lucky._

_Good point. Just, don't give up on it entirely, Jeremy, okay?_

_Thanks, Mike._


	3. Chapter 3

The digital clock beside Mike's bed read 5:30 as he rose out of bed. Mike just couldn't wait any longer, as he was sleeping, he had numerous nightmares, and although he couldn't remember any of them when he woke up, he was disturbed enough to get going as soon as possible. Mike hurriedly ate breakfast, took a shower, got dressed, and ran downstairs to the lobby of the apartment. First, he had to check if Jeremy's parents, Victoria and Clay Fitzgerald, still lived in the same house as they did when Mike went to college before driving to the neighborhood; also, he needed their phone number.

He spotted the phone book on the counter and, after checking to see if it was up-to-date, immediately began flipping through the pages. Placing his finger on the page, Mike skimmed through it, paying close attention so he wouldn't miss their name... _Oh, thank God! _To his relief, they apparently still lived in the same house in the nicer part of town; Mike had gone over to Jeremy's house enough times that he still remembered the address and how to get to the neighborhood. Satisfied, he took out his cellphone.

Mike didn't hesitate to type in the phone number, even though he wished to hear Jeremy answer him, he realized his friend was probably in no shape to do so. While waiting for a response, Mike went over to a chair in the lobby and sat down. Just as he was getting impatient, Mike finally heard a warm, familiar voice from the other end reply,

"Yes? Who is this so early in the morning?" Although she sounded much older, Mike instantly recognized the bright tone of voice Victoria Fitzgerald always used. Mike cleared his throat,

"Uh, I'm sorry, I don't know if you remember me... _~cough~ _The name's Mike Schmidt, I was a friend of your son. Um, I actually came over to your house a lot with him..." There was a long pause between the two of them.

"Oh, yes." Mrs. Fitzgerald sounded wistful, "How could I forget? Jeremy talked about you so much! I remember how _quiet_ you were whenever you'd visit, sometimes I'd forget you were even there!" she laughed softly, and then, continued solemnly, "I miss those days. Surely you've heard what happened to Jeremy?"

"Sort of," Mike admitted, "I just moved back here a couple months ago, and I just heard about it yesterday. The thing is, I wasn't given a lot of information; so, if you don't mind, I'd like to come over to your house and hear the whole story from you." After another long pause, Mrs. Fitzgerald finally answered,

"Y-yes, I'd love to speak with you again. You deserve to know what happened to my boy."

"Thank you, I'll be over in a half hour," Mike informed her; Mrs. Fitzgerald mumbled something back, and Mike turned off his phone. He couldn't help but run out of the apartment building, earning him some puzzled stares from the janitors. His heart pounding, Mike literally leaped into his car and drove off. Mike expected the visit to only take two hours at most; however long it took, in his present position he had all the time in the world. Mike had grown bored of spending his days just skimming through newspapers and websites looking for a decent job, he was certain there wouldn't be any offers heading his way anytime soon.

Dark, gray clouds loomed outside, a heavy rainstorm was surely heading this way. While driving along the road, Mike spotted a police car from the corner of his eye, and had to remind himself to slow down back to the speed limit. The drive only took about twenty-something minutes, and Mike pulled into the neighborhood of Fenton Hills. To his dismay, Mike realized that many houses were either in a worse state than he last saw them, or, were up for sale, and even both in some cases.

Near the end of the street, Mike spotted the modest-sized brick house, which happened to be one of the nicest looking houses he'd seen so far. While Mike turned his car into the driveway, the front door of the house opened and Mrs. Fitzgerald herself slowly inched down the porch tightly gripping her cane. She wobbled over to Mike as he got out of the vehicle, she greeted him with a wide smile on her face,

"Mike Schmidt! Oh, how you've grown!" Mrs. Fitzgerald held out her arms and Mike, afraid he'd snap her bones, reluctantly hugged her. Mike observed that Victoria's hands and legs were constantly quivering, and she was frighteningly thin, she could barely touch his shoulders. Mrs. Fitzgerald stepped back and looked up at the sky, "Hm, it hasn't rained here for a while," she noted, "Let's come inside, shall we?" Mike held out his hand with a small smile,

"Need any help?" he offered,

"No, no, you don't need to worry about me," the old woman shook her head and laughed, "I may be a lot slower, but my legs still work just fine!" Still, Mike opened up the door for her when she made it up the porch. The first thing Mike noticed about the inside of the house by just glancing was how much _emptier _the rooms were. The Fitzgeralds were avid collectors of anything antique, Mike even remembered going with them to a flea market in Waterford once; the house used to be overcrowded with countless junk, and the Fitzgeralds were self-admitted hoarders.

To Mike, without all those crazy items, it was like he was in a completely different household. Mrs. Fitzgerald asked him, "Would you like some coffee?" to which he shook his head, "Well, make yourself comfortable while I go get something," Mrs. Fitzgerald gestured her hand towards a sofa. The woman left the living room at a snail's pace. Mike sat down on the sofa with a sigh and covered his face with his hands,

"Dear _God!_" he groaned aloud; Mike was almost certain that the fragile Victoria Fitzgerald was completely alone in this old house. Mrs. Fitzgerald came out at last carrying a black book of some kind in her free hand. She came over to Mike and handed him the book to hold, taking a deep breath,

"This came from Jeremy's room," Victoria explained, "He started drawing in it a lot the week before it happened, just take a look and see for yourself." She wearily sat down on a couch next to Mike, who hesitated before opening up the sketchbook. He almost dropped the sketchbook upon seeing the first drawing: It was some kind of cartoonish bear that looked like it was reaching right for him with it's arms outstretched; it looked stiff and plastic-like. With the smudges and scratchy style, it seemed that Jeremy had drawn the picture in a frenzy. Above the bear were the words "Toy Freddy." Mike stared at Mrs. Fitzgerald in disbelief.


	4. Chapter 4

"I-I don't understand..." Mike recognized the bear, it was that Freddy Fazbear's Pizza character. He himself never went to that place, and at elementary school the pizzeria was regarded as "even lamer than Chuck E. Cheese's." Perhaps the main difference between the two restaurants was Chuck E. and his pals pretended to be "hip and cool," while Freddy and the others "should've been in a Disney cartoon." Mrs. Fitzgerald only glared at Mike, who sighed and continued to flip through the pages.

Some characters, which he recognized from the ads, were in a horrible state with chunks of their machinery gone, especially the purple rabbit. Other characters were entirely new to Mike, they looked like newer, cuter versions of the first four, a strange looking clown thing called the Puppet especially unsettled Mike. The illustrations were getting more chaotic and unorganized as Mike went on, as if Jeremy had drawn them immediately after progressively worse nightmares; he eventually began to write cryptic words all over the pages around the characters like: "SAVE THEM," "HELP THEM," "you can't."

Mike slammed the sketchbook shut and threw it onto the floor; with a groan he lay on the sofa and brought up his legs. Mrs. Fitzgerald, who looked surprisingly calm, explained to Mike,

"Jeremy was working there as a night guard. After only one night working there, he acted so... _strangely, _I don't know how else to put it," she rubbed her forehead, "He told us the robots were attacking him! Oh, Clay and I tried _so _hard to get him to quit, we even almost called the police! But, Jeremy kept telling us those things weren't just robots, and he had to get to the bottom of it..." Mrs. Fitzgerald paused before going on, "Well, he was moved to the day shift on his sixth day at a birthday party. One of the robots went berserk all of a sudden and..."

Mrs. Fitzgerald reached for a box of tissues and dabbed her eyes; she laughed bitterly, "The company gave us some money before we even sued!" Mike leaned over and held her hand, looking deeply into her eyes,

"Thank you, Mrs. Fitzgerald," he said, "I just need to know what happened to Jeremy after that." Mrs. Fitzgerald nodded,

"Jeremy lived," she sighed, "He lost most of his memories and couldn't keep any new ones. We wanted to keep him here, but, we knew the professionals had to look after him. Jeremy died peacefully in the nursing home five years ago, I suppose the bite shortened his life span..." Mike lay back down on the sofa, shutting his eyes, "As for my husband," Mrs. Fitzgerald went on, "He died of cancer only a few months after Jeremy; yessir, those were the worst years of my life, and here I am, selling all the items we collected over the years online!"

Victoria only shed a few tears and didn't lose her composure, like she'd already shed most of the tears she could for her loved ones years ago. Mike's body was trembling uncontrollably, his face was burning red, and he took deep breaths to hold back the tears in his eyes. When he finally sat up and his body stopped shaking, Mrs. Fitzgerald left the living room again and came back out holding a notebook in her hands. She handed it to Mike, who then picked up the sketchbook off the floor.

"Here," she said, "Jeremy wrote it this as well, I'd like you to keep both of them." Mike nodded, and Victoria asked him, "Before it starts to rain, would you like to visit Jeremy's grave?" Mike's mind went blank for a few moments; he violently nodded and hurriedly replied,

"_Yes!_ Yes, please." Mike followed behind Mrs. Fitzgerald as the two left her house. She cautiously stepped inside Mike's car, sitting in the passenger seat. Mike pulled out of the driveway and left the neighborhood. Mrs. Fitzgerald began giving Mike instructions on how to get to the cemetery and Mike, who already knew where it was, began thinking back to the very last conversation he had with Jeremy in November, 1987. He could only recall a portion of their conversation, but, he remembered Jeremy actually mentioning his new job, which he didn't give any details about,

_So, you're out of college now, too, Jeremy!_

_Yep. I found myself a job._

_Already? Damn!_

_Well, it pays dirt; but, I figured I should do something interesting, something that stimulates my mind._

_Um, okay... Have you started yet?_

_No, in a couple of days. To be honest, I'm feeling a little nervous, I mean, this is gonna be my first job, I don't wanna screw up!_

_What'll you be doing?_

_Heh, I don't want to talk about it. You'd laugh at me._

_I won't press you... now, let's talk about my job!_

Mike pulled into the gravel parking lot of the cemetery, the clouds outside perfectly fitting the dreary mood he was in. He took his umbrella with him as he stepped out of the car and walked over to the passenger seat to assist Mrs. Fitzgerald. Mike held her arm as they went up the hill, "Are you sure this isn't too much for you?" he asked; Mrs. Fitzgerald chuckled,

"If _you _don't want to see Jeremy, just say the word and we'll head back! Jeremy and Clay aren't far from here." Mike didn't say anything else. Mrs. Fitzgerald, having a sudden burst of energy, took the lead as they stepped off the path. She finally stopped and looked down at two gravestones that were side by side near a willow tree. Mrs. Fitzgerald lingered closer to her husband's grave, and Mike felt like he wanted to drop to the grass and lay down next to Jeremy's grave. Mike read the engraving on his friend's grave: _"Jeremy Fitzgerald 1965-1998: Beloved son, aspiring artist, lost the chance to share his art with the world."_

Mike couldn't hold back his emotions anymore; he fell to his knees and began wailing,

_"No! Why did it have to happen to Jeremy?! He dreamed he could change the world, why were his dreams taken from him?!" _Mrs. Fitzgerald came over and patted his back. Wiping his face, Mike eventually stood up, his pants stained with grass and dirt. Mrs. Fitzgerald, through her tears, smiled at Mike,

"There was nothing you could've done, and Clay and I couldn't stop him" she reassured Mike, "I think Jeremy knew something bad was going to happen him the day it happened." she gripped Mike's hands tightly, "Jeremy was trying to figure out something, although, I don't know what it was. I _do _know that his work isn't finished, and you might be the one who has to find the answers Jeremy was looking for."


	5. Chapter 5

For the next couple of days after visiting Jeremy's grave, Mike spent most of his time looking through the sketchbook and notebook Mrs. Fitzgerald had given him. The sketchbook didn't reveal much except that Jeremy was just about losing his mind working at Freddy Fazbear's. The illustrations themselves were very well done, the characters looked almost three-dimensional. _Poor Jeremy, _Mike thought to himself, _He probably never got any sleep... _Jeremy had only filled out a fourth of the sketchbook, and so, Mike turned to the notebook.

The top of the first page read "Strategies," and there were bullet points after bullet points of notes underneath; the more Mike read the tips Jeremy gave himself, the more he wondered _how _Jeremy could've had the courage to keep returning to that place, Jeremy was never known for his bravery during school:

_-Keep the music box wound at all times, affects the Puppet_

_-Listen for banging sounds in both vents, saves time from having to look in the monitor_

_-Freddy head trick will not work on Foxy or Puppet_

_-Balloon Boy can disable flashlight, leaving me vulnerable_

_-Both Chicas are female chickens... I thought I should write that down_

Mike skimmed through the pages until the Strategy notes ended about a third through the small book. There were still a lot of written things within the notebook, but Mike decided he would stop reading for the time being, having gained a newfound respect for his late friend. It was the first Monday of September when Mike finished the strategy section, and the clock next to his bed read eight-thirty. Mike had been intending to drive over to Freddy Fazbear's Pizza these past few days, and today he just _had _to visit the place where the accident happened.

Knowing the establishment would close soon, if not, already, Mike left his apartment in a hurry; he wanted to see the animatronics for himself and hopefully get to see how the employees were treated. Mike got into his car and started heading for the downtown area. He looked to his right while on the expressway and saw the purple-colored FFP building, located separately from the mall complex. Mike got off of the expressway and eventually parked in the empty parking lot. Before getting out of the vehicle, Mike took a minute to just sit back and stare at the building before him.

Gripping the wheel tightly and clenching his teeth, Mike felt his body burning and he had to look away. He was _so _close to just turning the wheel and getting the hell out of there before his anger got the best of him, "No," he scolded himself, "I'm here. I can do this. There's nobody here, they can't kick me out for asking a few questions..." He took a deep breath, shut off the engine, and got out of the car. As Mike grew closer to the building, he could see some lights shutting off inside and a college-age kid holding something that looked like a ring of keys.

Mike reached the front door and the man reluctantly let him inside,

"Um, sir," the man, who wore a purple uniform with a tag that said 'Chris', said to him, "We're just about closed for the night, we're cleaning up right now. If you want to have a party here, you could easily set it up over the phone or on our official website!" Mike glared at the young adult,

"No, I'd never set up a party here in a million years!" he informed the employee in a frank tone, "I'd like to speak with the manager about a few things." The young man stared at Mike with his jaw dropped,

"Um, actually, he just left," he eventually managed to say, "The _assistant_ manager's coming back in here pretty soon, you could just wait to talk to him. Is it absolutely necessary to speak with the manager?" Mike shook his head, and Chris assured him, "Good! This is just between you and me, but, the manager's kind of a paranoid, I can kind of understand why. Trust me, the assistant manager will be more likely to answer your questions." Mike thanked him and he went over to one of the tables.

One of the janitors gave Mike a quick icy glare, but Chris informed her he was allowed to sit. Mike looked up at the stage in front of him feeling both uneasy and awed at the same time. Three animatronics stood frozen atop the stage: Freddy, the mascot, Bonnie, the one in the worst shape in Jeremy's pictures, and Chica, the one often confused for a male duck. A shiver went down Mike's spine when he remembered the commercials before '87 that showed these things actually _moving_ around off of the stage, they were already creepy enough just standing there.

Mike diverted his attention to look at the decorations in the room. Children's innocent drawings of the characters were taped all over the walls, and Mike couldn't help but laugh out loud and think, _Ha! I bet they hired someone to draw them, do kids these days even want to come here? _He especially felt sorry for the college aged employees who all looked positively _ecstatic _to be there. Mike got out of his seat and walked a bit closer to the animatronics.

He looked up them, almost daunted by their size. When he got closer to them, Mike began smelling something... faint, but pungent. Mike sniffed the air and tried to figure out what it was; it could've been food coming from the kitchen, which was another reason for Mike to never celebrate an event there. He looked back up at the animatronics, _Is it coming from them? Don't they actually clean the animatronics once in a while? _Still gazing at the characters, Mike went back to his seat.

After a while of just sitting there, Mike became more irritated than nervous, _I wonder if they'll let me see that Foxy robot, he seems pretty cool, _he amused himself. He glanced at his watch and realized it was past 10:00, at least an hour of his life he'd never get back. Mike finally stood up and began heading for the door when he saw a man enter the building from the outside. The man looked to be in his fifties with his graying brown hair, he was wearing normal, everyday clothes except for a purple hat with the Freddy Fazbear logo on it, and carried a large coffee cup in his hand.

The facial feature that Mike immediately noticed on the man were the _very_ dark circles under his eyes. The man looked at Mike a bit puzzled,

"I wasn't aware that we hired anybody recently..." he said to Chris.

"Are you the assistant manager?" Mike asked the man,

"Why, yes I am!" he replied, "Um, is there anything you need?" Mike nodded his head and pleaded,

"Listen, pal, my name is Mike Schmidt, and I've been sitting here for over an hour waiting for you to show up, I'd just like to have a talk with you right now." The assistant manager ran a hand through his hair,

"Well," he sighed, "Um, you sound pretty distressed. So, uh, let's continue this in the office, shall we?" he smiled and gestured a hand towards a hallway, telling Chris and the other employees who'd been watching them, "Just keep doing your job, don't forget to turn on the animatronics 'free roaming' mode before you leave, ok?" The young employees simply nodded, and Mike began following the man down the hall.


	6. Chapter 6

The assistant manager led Mike into an office where the lights bathed the room in an eerie blue color, the only sounds being their footsteps and a fan spinning on the desk. Mike briefly glanced at the walls and smirked when he saw that, just like literally every other part of the building, the walls were covered in Freddy Fazbear posters; the one place where the guy didn't have to have the characters shoved down his throat, but still chose to fill it with merchandise anyway. The assistant manager sat down at his desk, with Mike having to stand in front of it.

The assistant manager cleared his throat, "Well, uh, I can tell by the look on your face that you'd like to make a complaint concerning this establishment, Mr. Schmidt. Um, I'll take some time to listen, but, you have to be out of here before midnight."

"Why?"

"All of the other employees will've left by then," the man explained, "Also, um, the animatronics will be activated to roam around the building. A-and since they don't have a proper 'night mode' or whatever, they'll be all over you since they don't get to physically interact with the people anymore, you know what I mean?" the assistant manager was giving Mike a shaky smile the whole time.

"Sure," Mike scoffed, "Who's the night guard?" The assistant manager laughed weakly and answered,

"That lucky guy happens to be me! _Ha-ha... _I'm retiring in November, as a matter of fact. My doctor says it's not healthy for me to continue working like this as I get older. Um, it's a very high-stress job; not only do I have to keep the animatronics from...making a mess, but, _~cough~ _since we're not located in the safest town in the state there's a chance that someone might want to break in and vandalize the property, and things like that..."

The man shook his head and waved his hands, "That's enough about me! We've only got a little more than an hour until my shift starts," he apologized, "So, now's the time for you to let it all out, Mr. Schmidt, I'm all ears!" He leaned back in his chair and clasped his hands together. Mike opened his mouth, but, he suddenly had a realization: he'd been waiting for so long to talk to someone that he forgot what the purpose of his trip to the pizzeria was all about.

Mike imagined himself raising Hell by voicing his disappointment in how they let his friend get injured on the job, how the rest of Jeremy's life was most likely spent in a bed dependent on others to look after him... but, what would Mike have accomplished? The accident happened sixteen years ago, if it was bad enough to shut down the restaurant, it would've been shut down a _long _time ago! Who knew if the man in front of him would even _know _what he was talking about? If Mike told him the whole story, the assistant manager would probably just respond with a blank stare.

Why make a big fuss about an event that happened so long ago? As far as Mike knew, nothing about the restaurant changed; the animatronics were still there, maybe the accident was what gave the incentive for the characters to never move around during the day anymore? _Ugh, I didn't think this through... _Mike lamented with a sigh. The assistant manager asked him a bit concernedly, "Um, Mr. Schmidt? Are you alright?" Mike was snapped back into reality; he needed to come up with a better reason to be there fast,

"Oh, I'm sorry, I was just thinking..." Mike then informed the man the first thing that came to his head, "This isn't actually a complaint, per say. Um, as of recently, I've become very interested in the history of the Freddy Fazbear's Pizza franchise. I was wondering if you had anything like a bunch of newspapers or anyone I could contact to get some information, I was hoping to write a book about the subject one of these days!" _A book... a book? Okay, just roll with it... _The assistant manager was visibly set off by Mike's excuse, leaning forward with a fury in his eyes; breaking the dissonant attitude he had earlier, the man glared at Mike,

"Is _that_ what this is all about?!" he sputtered, "So, you want to tell the whole _country _about all those incidents?"

"_All _the incidents...?" Mike was interrupted,

"This place has been quiet for sixteen years and you want to re-spark all the horrible memories!" the assistant manager spat, slamming his hands on the desk. The man, with beads just appearing on his head, took a few deep breaths, "So sorry," he apologized, "I've found that over the years I've become more irritable," he sat back down at his desk, "Um, if it makes you feel any better, uh, the health inspectors are gonna shut down this place by the end of the year... _heh, _it's not just the animatronics that smell bad these days, the janitors have gotten real lazy..."

The assistant manager opened up a drawer, took out a sticky note, and began writing something down, "I'm gonna help you write your book, I'm sure Fazbear Entertainment won't be around to stop you by the time it's published; I'm sure you'll handle the, uh, topic with care and sensitivity..." Mike slowly nodded, "So, I'm giving you this email address that I hope you'll find useful." The assistant manager handed Mike the sticky note that said: olivermouse on it.

The man explained, "That's just the name of one of her book characters. Her real name is Elizabeth Sanders, she's the one who designed all of the characters." Mike looked up, not sure of how to respond. The assistant manager went on, "She illustrates and sometimes writes kid's books. She might give you info on the earliest days of Freddy Fazbear's, she was there even when it was called Fredbear's Family Diner. But, I'm sure a lot of people blame her for all the incidents, so she might not respond right away." He shook hands with Mike.

"Um, thanks," Mike chuckled, "You really didn't have to do that."

"I just wanted to make up for my little outburst," the assistant manager laughed back, "And, well, I guess the rest of the country outside of the Midwest deserve to know... Just promise me you won't let it get too far out of hand if there's a response; I don't want a movie messing up all the facts to be made and twist the people's image of Freddy even further."

"Well, maybe I'll never get around to writing the book," Mike sighed, "Who knows?" He and the assistant manager shook hands and Mike left the office. The rest of the building was uncomfortably dark at this point, with only a few employees left spread out inside. Mike quickened his pace when he went back near the animatronics. As he opened the door, Mike very briefly glanced back at the frozen robots behind him before practically running outside towards his car.


	7. Chapter 7

For a while, Mike sat in his car reading the email address on the note; he'd completed his personal journey to find out what happened to Jeremy, but, Mike realized he was only scratching the surface of something much, _much _worse hiding behind the seemingly permanent smiles of the pizzeria mascots. The words of the assistant manager rang in his mind: _"So, you want to tell the whole country about all those incidents?!" _Still, the assistant manager willingly opened up a new door for Mike to enter.

Mike restarted the engine of his car and took off when he looked at his watch, realizing it was almost midnight. He put the note on the dashboard in front of him, beginning to think about his present situation so deeply he was practically driving by muscle memory. After a while, Mike picked up the note again and moved his arm closer to the little trash basket next to him, _If I abandon everything I just learned tonight and go home, everything will go back to normal... _he tried to convince himself; yet, Mike knew that he would live carrying a feeling of guilt and shame on his shoulders for who knows how long...

He also recalled what Mrs. Fitzgerald told him: _"I do know that his work isn't finished, and you might be the one who has to find the answers Jeremy was looking for." _Mike shoved the note into his pocket and tried to push away his unease. Mike pulled into the apartment complex, and, as he was walking to the entrance, he noted that things were quieter in this part of town than usual.

When he trudged into his room, Mike took out the note and threw it onto his desk, getting out of his clothes and into the smelly t-shirt and sweatpants he called pajamas. He picked up Jeremy's notebook, which had been laying on top of his pillow. Mike fell down onto his bed, rubbing his heavy eyes. He flipped the pages until he reached the spot where he'd left off, the end of the 'Strategies' section. Mike's heart began to pound when he started reading the next page.

The rest of the notebook served as Jeremy's diary, with the first entry reading 'After Night 1' without any other date mentioned. Mike took a deep breath and read on,

_After Night 1: Well, last night was my first night working at Freddy Fazbear's Pizza, it's 10:00 AM and, I gotta say, I'm not any less terrified than I was while on the job. This man left me a message with some really odd instructions on what to do to prevent the animatronics from getting into the office; that was the first sign that this job was going to be harder than it looked. I'm still having trouble believing it myself, but, the animatronics were running around trying to get into my office! I had to wind a music box and wear a Freddy mask, if I remember correctly, the phone guy said that they'd try to stuff me into a suit; yeah, I believe that!_

_He also mentioned the old location being left to rot, honestly, I'm not sure if I want to know the reason why. The older versions of the characters were just sitting in a closed off room, if I keep coming back to that place, I bet I'd have to keep them away, too. But, I don't know what to do. I lied to my parents when I came home, I told them that the job was kind of boring; I don't think I'll be able to sleep for a while. The one time I tried to go to sleep a couple of hours ago, all I could hear was that damn music box tune, and I kept worrying that the Puppet thing was going to jump onto my bed if it stopped._

_The Puppet, -Marionette, whatever-thing scares me the most out of all of them. Something very wrong is going on there, the management claims the animatronics are connected to some type of criminal database so they can look for predators; but, why are they attacking me? Either their systems are glitching up or the management is hiding something else. A part of me wants to know more, if I keep coming back to that place I might die, but, if I just quit and never go back, I'll never know the truth. So, I think I know what I'm going to do to make up my mind._

_I'll go back to Freddy Fazbear's today after lunch or something, maybe I can speak to some of the employees privately. I wonder if they get paid not to tell anyone any dirty secrets about the establishment... This evening I'll try to get some sleep again, maybe I'll have forgotten about what happened last night enough. I hope. _

Mike could almost feel his heartbeat throbbing in his ears, and he slammed the notebook shut. When Mrs. Fitzgerald informed him that the animatronics were actually attacking Jeremy, Mike almost immediately forgot, desperately wanting to know how his friend was at that moment. Now, Mike placed the notebook on his bed stand and stood up from the bed. He turned off all the lights in his apartment except the lamp on his bed stand, and Mike hurriedly hopped into his bed so he could be closer to the light. Mike pulled the bedsheets to his ears and brought up his legs as close to his chest as possible.

On this night, the downtown outside of his apartment was dead silent; usually, one could hear cars driving by and rowdy young adults laughing and messing around. Mike grabbed one of his pillows, his hands trembling, and squeezed it like a stuffed animal. Mike repeatedly forced his eyes to remain shut; but, periodically some random noise coming from the pipes or one of his neighbors would jolt him awake, and soon Mike was surrounded by small pools of his own sweat. Finally, after some time, fatigue overwhelmed Mike enough for him to go to sleep; even so, he knew it wasn't going to be an easy night to get through.


End file.
